Page 64 of Die for You

Usually, I would argue, but my leg feels like a balloon, so I doubt I could walk up the incline. I get into the buggy without complaint. We drive in silence toward the mansion.

Lenny has done remarkably well for himself. This home is rich in possessions, but we both know money doesn’t buy happiness.

The guard drops me off at the door, which opens. Lenny stands in the doorway in gray sweats and nothing else. I’ve interrupted his training as he’s like me and barely sleeps four hours a night, which means we’re up before the crack of dawn.

I hobble out of the buggy, trying my best not to draw attention to the earlier mishap.

But it’s hard to miss.

Lenny walks down the stairs, and my heart does a tiny flip-flop because I instantly feel a sense of peace in his presence.

That’s soon to change, no doubt.

He leads us away from the house. I forgot about Bria. Thoughts of her have me wanting to punch something.

We walk toward a small building at the back of the house. We enter, and I see it’s a training room. It’s equipped with everything we grew up with. Seems fitting I’m about to divulge what I am in a room full of weapons.

“What happened?”

“Someone hit me with their car. Fucking rude if you ask me.”

His lips twitch. “Did you see who?”

“No, but it was a man, I think, judging from his shoe size.”

“Stupid question, but any idea who wants you dead?”

I scoff in humor. “Could be anyone.”

He takes a step closer. My mouth instantly waters because he is fucking delicious, and I want to climb him like a tree. “Anyone but me?”

I fold my arms, arching a brow.

“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you thought it was me.”

“Lenny, if we wanted the other dead, it would have happened long ago.”

He nods, running a hand over his heavy growth. That’s when I see scratch marks on the side of his neck. I also notice white gauze over the back of his shoulder.

Love taps, perhaps?

My blood boils.

My need to punch something returns.

Kicking off my shoes, I take down a pair of nunchucks from the wall and twirl them, needing to distract myself from punching Lenny.

I have no right to be jealous.

But the thought of him with Bria makes me want to vomit or scream. Maybe both.

“Let’s fight.”

It seems we both need to do something with our hands other than throttle each other. Or worst still, tug at one another’s hair as we fuck the shit out of each other.

Lenny gets into a fighting stance as I move the nunchucks in a sequence. He watches me closely, and when I strike, he blocks me with the back of his wrist.

He grins. Sparring has always been a favorite pastime of his.